Treasures of Love

by Grace Augustine

Genres: Short Stories; Romance

Synopsis

It's been said countless times that Love is the Universal Language. There may be truth to that. We all crave love...from the time we are born to our last breath.

TREASURES OF LOVE is a collection of love stories that showcases the many forms of love: love between friends, the love for a talent or gift, the love of a favorite food, the love for your significant other, your children, your parents...even love of yourself.

Between these pages you will find stories filled with romance, love, feel-good happy ever after moments, and poignant memories that may spark love in your own heart.

Release date: February 1, 2019

Print pages: 123

Sample

LOVE IS MADE OF DREAMS

“You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world.” “You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world.” They sat in silence for a couple moments before he reached for a daisy and handed it to the girl of his dreams. “I picked-ed these for you. They’re beautiful, just like you.” She closed her eyes and shyly turned her head, bringing the flower to her nose to inhale its fragrance. “Thank you.” He smiled at her gratitude and moved closer, so his shoulder touched hers. “I want to marry you,” he declared confidently. “That’s silly. We can’t get married. We aren’t old enough.” “Will you wait for me until we are old enough?” She pursed her lips and studied the boy of her dreams. She handed him a flower from the bouquet he’d picked for her. “Of course, I will. You’re my bestest friend. I don’t ever want to be without you.” He took off his hat and leaned his head, so it touched hers. Just for a moment, not for long. He placed his hat on the head of the girl of his dreams, and gently kissed her cheek. “I don’t ever want to be without you either.” In silence, they stared at each other. The girl of his dreams. The boy of her dreams. They stared. They smiled. They dreamed.

UNCONVENTIONAL LOVE

Ben and Hildy sat at the park from mid-morning until the sun went down. It wasn’t uncommon to see the couple every Saturday, choosing just the right spot to spread out the blanket. There was always a book, always laughter, always a picnic basket filled to the brim with snacks to share. Theirs was a unique relationship. Ben, twenty years’ Hildy’s senior, had lived a hard life…one of prejudice at work, as well as church and many other societal situations. He’d worked hard in the coal mines until age got the better of him. Retirement sent him into a deep depression for which he was hospitalized. That’s where he met Hildy. Hildy, a sassy thirty-year-old, loved her work as a therapist on the psych floor of Trinity Hospital. She’d seen many come and go and smiled when she remembered her part in their healing. She’d stopped by Ben’s room the day he was admitted. Her heart sank when she saw the uncommunicative, handsome older man sitting near the window. “Hi, Ben. I’m Hildy. It’s nice meeting you,” she greeted, taking the older man’s hand in hers and smiling brightly. Her greeting met with no response. “I can see we’re going to have to do something to cheer you up.” Ben turned toward Hildy and looked at her compassionate blue eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. “What’s the use?” The deep voice questioned. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” “Oh, now, that is just a lie, sir, and you know it. Before I snap my fingers, you’ll be waltzing out of here. I promise.” Hildy continued meeting with Ben daily for the next two weeks. Each day she read excerpts to him from her favorite books. By the end of the second week, she noticed Ben smiling and engaging in conversation with her. “I have a surprise for you, Ben. Get your sweater and come with me.” Ben followed Hildy from the room. Soon they were walking hand in hand to the gardens at the hospital where they sat on a bench in the noon-day sun. Hildy opened her book and read several poems from Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her voice was sweet and positive and soothing. She glanced at Ben and smiled when she saw him smiling, eyes closed, as he took in every word she read. Each Saturday, Hildy led them to the same bench. Each Saturday, Ben held one side of the book and Hildy the other. Each took turns reading. Then, one day, it was time for Ben to be released from the hospital. “You’re going home today, Ben.” Ben sat with his elbows on his knees, hands folded, and head lowered. He wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking but went ahead anyway. “Why did you do what you did, Hildy? Why did you read to me? Why were you kind to me? Not once did the color of my skin matter. Not once did my former profession matter. Not once did you judge me.” Hildy patted Ben’s arm then grasped one of his hands in both of hers. “Ben, I only see your heart. I see a loving, kind man who needed to be shown his worth.” A tear fell down Ben’s cheek. “Hildy, I don’t want to say goodbye to you.” “Who says we have to say goodbye?” Every Saturday, for the past five years, Hildy and Ben met at the park at 10 am. They sat on a blanket, they laughed and read books, they shared a meal and their souls with each other. And, when the sun went down, Ben walked Hildy to her car and hugged her tightly. “I love you Hildy.” “I love you, too, Ben.”

LET ME SING TO YOU, MY LOVE

Let me sing to you, my love. From morning sun to dusk I shall declare my love for you. You are fairer than the royalty on thrones. You are lovelier than a thousand roses. Your beauty outshines the Queen. Let me sing to you, my love. From the depths of my soul. Night and day, I will declare my love for you. Your love knows no ending nor beginning. Your love is pure and bright. Your love is refreshing like the early morning dew. Let me sing to you, my love. Let me tell you what you mean to me. Let me share my soul with you. Let me gather you unto myself. Your hair smells of heather fields and rosewater. You wear the finest cloth. Yet, none of that matters. I see your heart. Let me sing to you, my love. I sing to you of my love and devotion. I sing to you of my pride and joy. I sing to you of your beautiful self. The stars shine brighter because of you. Time stands still when you are near. You are my second skin. Let me sing to you, my love. You are my only love, The one who has my heart. Forever entwined with gold cords.

AND THEY DANCED ALL NIGHT

The chandeliers throughout the ballroom were sparkling. Each crystal had been buffed with the finest cloth, so the light danced through the many facets. Buffet tables lined with silver chafing dishes held delectable choices including roast duck, pheasant in a wine sauce, fresh steamed vegetables, and desserts as far as the eye could see. Rows of champagne glasses stood ready for the servers to fill their trays and offer to the guests. Yes, tonight was a special night. It was Lord Ashworth’s thirtieth birthday. Rumor had it he would make an important announcement mid-way through the evening. This allowed for rampant chatter throughout the community with suspicions of going to war or taking a bride. All hoped for the latter. Guests arrived hours early to take in the décor and, of course, with hopes of spending time with Lord Ashworth himself. The wait-staff took cloaks and coats and top hats and gloves and hung them on various racks that were in the ante-room just to the left of the grand hall. Grant Ashworth greeted his parents at the bottom of the spiral oak staircase. He caught the gleam in his mother’s eye and the smile on his father’s face. He marveled at what was accomplished by them to pull off such a soiree. “Mother, you look stunning! You, too, Father.” Genevieve took her son’s arm and allowed him to lead her ahead of her husband. She truly was radiant in the ecru lace and satin ballgown. Her hair, piled high on her head, was held in place by a sapphire comb—a family heirloom. “Are you ready for the evening, Grant? There will be many ladies here wanting to dance with you this evening. You will oblige, yes?” Grant shook his head and smiled. Leave it to his matchmaker of a mother to bring up the fact of the multiple ladies who would be here helping him celebrate. “Mother, I will, of course, dance with those I so wish to dance with.” Grant bowed to his mother and father and made his way into the grand ballroom. Before more guests arrived, he grabbed a plate and placed samples of the food on it. No telling when he would have the chance to eat if he was planning to dance the night away. More and more people arrived, and each couple was announced as they entered the grand ballroom. Grant hurried to finish the last bite of his petit fours and made sure there were no crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth. He greeted his guests with the customary nods and hand kisses. An hour into the festivities, Grant spotted her across the room. The object of his affection. The object of his attention. He’d done his best to keep this secret, even from his parents, for the past few months. She was a vision of pure beauty. Her light auburn hair was piled in a bun on the crown of her head. The lavender and white satin ball gown with a ruffled bustle accentuated her small waist and the cut of the bodice revealed her milky white skin and ample cleavage. A single strand of pearls encircled her neck. The current dance ended, and Grant made his way across the room. Passion filled his eyes and a broad smile showed off his dimples. “May I have this dance?” He questioned as he bowed before his lovely lady. She nodded, and they waltzed across the dance floor, not wanting the music to stop. They gazed at each other, so much unspoken between them. She curtsied when the dance ended, but Grant wasn’t letting go of her that easily. “Excuse me. If I may have your attention, please,” Grant began. “Thank you all so much for coming to my birthday celebration this evening. There is plenty of food and drink, so make sure to fill your plates and glasses. Before we return to the music, I have a special announcement.” Grant’s parents and the other couples gathered around where he was standing, still holding onto the hand of his lovely dance partner. “Most of you know this lovely woman, and if you don’t, it’s time you do,” he stated as he got down on one knee before her and placed an emerald and diamond ring on her gloved finger. “Lady Annabelle Cartwright, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Tears streamed down the Lady’s cheeks. She was speechless. The only thing she could do was nod her head. Grant stood up and took her in a head to toe embrace and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. That was enough to cue the chamber orchestra to play. Grant twirled Annabelle around and caught her close to him again. Grant and Annabelle danced every dance, long into the early morning hours, celebrating their love. “I’ve loved you for so long, Lady Annabelle. It is such a privilege to know you will be my wife.” “I’ve loved you, too, Lord Ashworth, for most of my life. I’m a lucky lady to have you as my betrothed.”

I’LL MEET YOU AT THE FOOT BRIDGE

Caitlyn climbed upon my lap and snaked her little arms around my neck. It made me smile to know my great-grandchildren loved spending time with us. “Tell me again, how you and great grandpa met,” she pleaded. I pulled her little nine-year-old body closer to me for a hug and kissed her temple. She knew this story frontwards and backwards, but always had to have me retell it whenever she visited. “Well, Catie, I wasn’t very good at picking out boys to date. After four years of high school and four years of college, I’d had countless boys that were just terrible.” Catie nodded her head. “That’s when you asked great great grandma to fix you up, right?” I snickered silently at that sentence. Yes, that is when I had to be fixed up with a date. “Yes, Catie. My mom and I sat at the kitchen table discussing boys and how most of my friends were married and having children. Then there was me…” “Yeah, but you were beautiful, Oma Marie. You still are.” “Oh, child, thank you. Now, do you want me to finish this story, or are you going to tell it to me?” “I’ll shut up, Oma Marie,” the little poppet affirmed. “My mom worked at a factory with a lot of other people. There were some young men there, one in particular, who wasn’t having any luck with dating. So, my mom asked him if he would like to come to dinner. I was mortified! But, I’m the one who told her to find me someone to marry.” Catie laughed at that. She opened her mouth but shut it quickly. “Your Opa Mark knocked on the door of our home and, of course, my mom made me answer the door. There he stood, all six-foot-six of him, dressed to the nines. No words came out of my mouth. I just stared at him. He probably thought I was the biggest loser he’d ever met. My mom yelled at me to invite him to come in, so I did. “The dining room table was filled with food, and my two sisters and mom and dad. After dinner, mom suggested that Mark and I go in the living room and get to know each other. We spent the next three hours talking and laughing. When it was time for him to leave, I walked with him to the door. He kissed my cheek and asked when he could see me again.” I tear up every time I tell this story to sweet Caitlyn. I hugged her closer to me as I thought of my darling, Mark. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. I constantly thank my mother in Heaven for introducing us. “This is where Opa Mark asks you to meet him at the bridge, right?” Caitlyn’s head bobbed, as did her curls. “Yes, honey, this is where Opa Mark and I met at the bridge. Every time we met, we met at the bridge before we went out on our dates. Three months into our relationship, Opa Mark asked me to marry him and I said yes. Each year on our anniversary, we walk the length of that bridge and remember that special night. Tomorrow, we will be married fifty-five years.” “Oma Marie! That’s a very long time! I wonder if my Momma will pick my husband.” “Oh, Catie, you have years before you have to worry about that. Enjoy your time growing up. When it’s time for that special boy in your life, I’m sure you will have many knocking on your door.” “But I don’t want many. I just want one. I want one that is as special as Opa Mark,” Catie stated. “You love Opa Mark a whole lot, don’t you?” “I love Opa Mark with all of who I am, honey.” “Are you going to the bridge tomorrow? Can I come?” I smiled down at my oldest great grandchild. She was so much like her grandmother and her mother with a bit of me mixed in there for good measure. “Yes, Opa Mark and I will walk down that bridge tomorrow. We must do that. It’s tradition. And, Catie, no, you can’t go with us tomorrow. But, whatcha say to us doing it another day? We’ll get ice cream.” Catie’s eyes grew large at the thought of ice cream. Again, her arms were around my neck and she kissed my cheek. “I love you Oma Marie, and I love the bridge, too.”

LUCK O’ THE LEPRECHAUN

“I paid ye my money, lad, now give me my pint.” Aengus McCracken had been coming to this pub well over seven years, the same amount of time John O’Shay had been behind the bar. The man always ordered the same thing, a pint of Guinness, “black as it comes.” “Aengus, I slid your pint to ye when I took your coin,” John replied. “Well, lad, I ain’t got no pint.” Aengus turned to the man sitting to his right, another regular, Conor Callahan, and elbowed him. “Do ye see a pint in front of me, Callahan? Their ain’t no pint…and I paid for one.” By now, Aengus was a bit frustrated. The more upset he was, the louder his voice. Soon everyone in the pub was listening to the man ramble on about not having his drink. John drew another draught and slid it down to Aengus, making sure it hit his hand this time. “That’s better, lad,” he winked and downed half the glass. John knew he’d slid a drink down the bar to Aengus, but for the life of him he didn’t know why there was no glass, no evidence of it. He shook his head and continued drawing draughts and pouring whiskey for the patrons. “Conor, can I top that off for ye?” John asked, the bottle of Tullamore in his hand. “Never known me turn down a topper, have ye? To the brim with it, lad! Thank ye.” John poured the rich amber liquor in Conor’s glass, right up to the brim, as asked. There was quite a ruckus goin’ on, you see. A championship football game was showing on the television. The pub was divided and cheering for their respective teams. The noise level was such it was difficult to hear anything. John learned early on to just carry bottles to his customers and nod. If they nodded back, he refilled their glass…that included pints for Aengus McCracken, too. Conor turned back to his drink after checking the score. He grabbed his glass and looked at it. He knew he hadn’t taken a sip from that full glass of whiskey, yet it was nearly gone. “John, what’s goin’ on, here?” “I don’t know what to tell ye, Conor. You saw me fill the glass.” The wee chuckle of a leprechaun was heard in the distance. followed by the whistling of a familiar Irish drinking tune.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, DARLING

Leftovers put away … check. Dishes rinsed and in the dishwasher … check. Cup of hot herbal tea … check. Pen in hand with Christmas cards and address book on lap … check. Cheesy holiday movies on television … check.

Christmas Eve.

The four of us walked to the church in the gently falling snow. It was only a couple blocks away and, of course, the boys ran ahead of John and me, but waited at the Narthex doors so we could enter as a family. The Christ candle of the Advent wreath was lit, the ageless message was spoken, and the candles were lit as we sang Silent Night. That song always stabs my heart, this year more so than others. Things with John haven’t been good for a very long time. The kids have picked up on the tension between us, so they’ve been a handful both at home and at school. It’s difficult pretending nothing’s wrong. With a smile plastered on my face, I hugged several on the way out of the church. I greeted Pastor Iverson and his wife and nodded when they suggested we all get together after the holidays. The boys, one on either side of me, grabbed my hands and pulled me toward the door. John never likes to hang around to visit. He impatiently waited outside. The cold hit me as I opened the door and we walked out to meet him. The short walk to our house was in silence. It was still snowing, and the silence was deafening. I’d made a crockpot of hot chocolate, so it would be ready when we returned. It was tradition in our home to open presents after church. They boys hurried upstairs and put on their pajamas and giggled their way back to the living room, sitting as close as they could to the tree and the brightly wrapped boxes. We didn’t have much money. Even though John and I both worked a forty-hour work week, there never seemed to be any extra. I hated that I couldn’t get more things for the boys for Christmas, but two presents each would have to do. Thankfully, they were happy with the toy selections. John was happy, too, when he opened his new electronic gadgets…and me—well, I got a new pair of socks and a flannel nightgown. I picked up the wrapping paper and took it to the trash in the kitchen before filling my mug with more hot chocolate. I secretly wished I had something strong to put with it! I walked back into the living room and sat down. The boys were tired. They were whiney and biting at each other. It was close to eleven o’clock… time for bed. John continued messing with the stereo speaker enhancer. As usual, I was on my own getting the kids calmed down and ready to sleep. I chased them up the stairs to their respective rooms, but they wanted to sleep together tonight, so I figured there was no harm in that. They both climbed into the double bed and I grabbed ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas from the bookshelf. The longer I read, the sleepier they were…three-fourths the way through, both were fast asleep. I kissed each forehead and counted my blessings as I turned on the night light and closed the door. My mug was lukewarm, but I wasn’t going downstairs to heat it. The last person I wanted to spend Christmas Eve with was John. I grabbed the cordless phone and went into the bedroom. I’m not proud of what happened after that. You see, with the problems between John and me, and being overwhelmed with work and the kids, I’d reached out to anyone who showed me the least little bit of attention. I was in a chat room online and met several wonderful people. Some of us remain friends today. One person struck my fancy…and I did his. Doug. Doug was a real estate mogul from Denver, Colorado. He’s been my saving grace more times than I care to count. He listened. He didn’t judge me on my feelings, or lack of, where John was concerned. He seemed to truly understand. He was divorced, and we’d developed quite a thing for one another. We’d talk to each other by phone a couple times a week and send countless email messages. We even met during a lay-over at Denver International Airport. All I knew was that I needed to be anywhere but where I was tonight. That meant a phone call to Doug. I put my Carpenters Christmas CD in the player and punched his number into the phone. He thanked me for the peanut clusters I’d sent him for Christmas, and we talked about church, dinner, his kids, my kids, how we wished we were together walking in the snow, sharing the quiet, magical night. “Someday. I believe it will happen, someday,” he’d always say. Tonight. I wanted it to happen tonight. How could it, though, when we were hundreds of miles apart? “Merry Christmas, Darling. We’re apart, that’s true…but I can dream and, in my dreams, I’m Christmasing with you…” The familiar words rang through my heart as I listened to Doug’s voice mixed with the words of the song. In that moment, it became our song. I began singing them as the music played. To my surprise, Doug joined in. There was a long pause in our conversation when the song ended. I didn’t want this moment to end. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I listened to his rich voice. “Merry Christmas, Darling. Someday. Someday.”